Understanding Israel-Palestine by Monica Shaar

Who am I

but the daughter of an Arab man

raised on American soil

with the understanding

of mirrors and fogged glass?

What do I know

of their life and their suffering

when they seek asylum

for what has been given to me?

I’ve read their history,

their experiences

and the misunderstandings

between “them” –

plural as in “us”

and the “other”

and the other “other”–

and still I sit here, trying to understand

what it’s like to fight for life.

But if I scratch at this paper

for long enough,

as they scratch at the plaster

for food,

and if I act as an artist

for long enough,

as the fire burns their homes

and schools,

and if I try to build

a bridge of freedom,

when they are only given

the blocks of a blood-stained wall,

would anyone sit up and listen

or just denote another bomb?